


Where Pirates All Are Well To Do

by Jalules



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bloodswap, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Budding Romance, Crushes, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Minor Violence, blueblood Kanaya, jadeblood Vriska
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, in which a young midblood thief gets in way over her head with a clever though overtired highblood girl and receives, for her efforts, one shiner, one rousing discussion of troll history and literature, and one itsy bitsy flush crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Pirates All Are Well To Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telluricThanatologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telluricThanatologist/gifts).



**  
**

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.

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At an hour when any other troll her age is sure to be asleep and dreaming sweet, sopor-fueled dreams of galactic conquest, Vriska Serket is creeping across the desert that separates her hive from the mountain region where the wealthier set reside. With the sun still high in the sky, this is the perfect time for her to engage in one of her favorite hobbies; stealing other people's shit.

  
The sun is warm on her back, against her horns, and she revels in that heat. She feels powerful, impervious to the dangers of the world, special. She is special, unlike anyone else she knows, and that makes her superior.

  
She learned sweeps ago just how unique she was, used her ability to withstand the harsh Alternian sun to shock her peers, showing off and pulling more than a few pranks on unsuspecting trolls who expected her skin to blister and burn while she stood outside their hives, grinning, menacing. Sometimes she would stand around and shriek, wake up entire hivestems, writhing on the ground to fool wrigglers into thinking she really was burning alive. Only one or two were ever dumb enough to check and see if she needed help, and she was never quite cruel enough to let them get themselves hurt too badly.

  
She's not heartless, you know.

  
Eventually simple pranks escalated to petty theft, as is the natural course of things, a series of daylight robberies perpetrated while hive owners were snug in their coons. Within a few sweeps, Vriska had acquired enough valuable bits and bobs to amass an impressive collection.

  
It's all stashed away in secret rooms within her tower hive, spilling out onto the stairs in places. It's kind of a mess, but a mess she's proud of. Each stolen piece is an accomplishment, and she's quite pleased with her hoard of prizes. She likes to think that even if she were just some average troll without a special power to her name, she'd have been able to steal herself the same massive treasure pile, but her rare blood certainly doesn't hurt her chances.

  
Special powers are meant to be used, Vriska has always thought so, and she's more than happy to display her heartier than average physicality. She wears it right on her face, in a constant jade-tinged sunburn just across her nose, her cheeks, a visual notice that she is rare and important.

  
Of course being extraordinary has its downsides, which became more and more apparent the closer she got to adulthood. Every new night brings all of Alternia one step closer to a supposed apocalypse, if the blubbering, doomsday chanting lowbloods she knew were to be believed, and the apocalypse, while kind of epic in every imagining she had ever seen displayed in films, was starting to sound like a lot of pressure.

  
It was still so many nights away though. Seasons away. Sweeps away. So, hardly a thing to worry about at all. And no amount of gentle reminders from her lusus or conversations with her gloomy, doom-minded peers can convince her otherwise. She's never been one to sit and fret and waste her time.

  
"Seize the day," She mutters to herself, paused on a sparsely grassed hill, squinting into the sunlight and beyond, to her newest target.

  
High up on the mountainside sits a grand Consensus Period Revival mansion. Its graceful arches and balconied windows might as well be made of solid gold, for all the wealth they suggest. It is definitely the grandest hive Vriska has ever attempted to burglarize, and that fact has her pulse racing, a rush of adrenaline already taking hold. Just thinking of what kind of priceless jewels and antique weaponry this hive might be hiding makes her sure it's worth the risk of being caught by the highblood hiveowner. She's been stealing from her equals long enough, she reckons. It's time for a proper haul.

  
Taking the winding path up the mountain to reach the mansion on top seems like too obvious a choice, but at this time of day there isn't another soul out for miles. Vriska can wander along, admiring the scenery, without fear of being spotted. She doesn't do much wandering though, too antsy to move at anything less than a brisk walk. She keeps the mansion in sight and imagines sapphire rings, amethyst encrusted crowns, even disgustingly rare rubies, propped on pillows and encased in glass. She imagines golden shields and heavy swords, helmets worn by famous conquerors of worlds, crystal goblets stained with the blood of enemies.

  
By the time she's run out of fantasies, she's reached the mansion doors. The sun is still only halfway across the sky, which means she has plenty of time to find her way in, find everything she could ever want, and find her way right back out again.

  
She walks around to the far side of the mansion, which is not quite as large as she was expecting it to be, but is still pretty damn impressive. There's a wall there, with a latched wooden door that seems like it would lead to a garden. She's never been a fan of plants, ever since the leafy monstrosities she tried to cultivate around the base of her tower keeled over, so she turns up her nose at the door and turns around to go back to the main entrance. This door is much more appealing, with ornate carvings across the wood, and a pretentious little plaque above it with a name in the fanciest lettering she's ever seen; Maryam.  
She makes a face at the sign, gives the heavy handle of the door a try. It swings right open, no lock or trap in place, and Vriska shakes her head. Highbloods, honestly, sitting up on mountains and thinking they're safe. It's reckless, is what it is, and she should know. Reckless is one of her favorite things to be.

  
It's dark inside, just as she would have expected, and the change in light takes a minute for her eyes to adjust to. Once she can see, she's practically dazzled all over again. The parlor she's standing in is like a dream, all crystal light fixtures and old, old tapestries with golden edges, and rich, blood-dyed thread. There's a set of stairs straight ahead, with curving banisters on either side, and open rooms on either side that look suspiciously full of framed art.

  
She doesn't know where to start. There's just so much, and all of it right there in the open. She could make a killing in here, she thinks. She won't even be able to keep it all. Just thinking of uncovering some black market dealers to sell half of this stuff to has her positively giddy.

  
Grinning, she closes the heavy front door, near-silent with care, and tiptoes into the middle of all the extravagance. It's big stuff, mostly, and while it is tempting to start tearing things down immediately, she has priorities. More than a vault of treasure, more than a potential sale, she likes the idea of a trophy. She wants a necklace, a dagger, something to hold in her hands and wear on her person, to show the world just how clever and skilled she is.

  
Most people keep their jewelery close to them, she knows, usually in a respiteblock. And most respiteblocks are on the top floor. With the quietest of steps, Vriska takes to the staircase. They're marble, she thinks, or some kind of stone, anyway, and stunningly pretty. Her own hive is going to feel a hell of a lot less grand when she goes back after sneaking through this one.

  
She'd like to live in a hive like this, honestly. If she'd had the budget for it, she would have built herself a sprawling mansion, probably twice as big as this one. Someone so special should have a special place to stay, shouldn't they? She's never understood the distribution of wealth, of power. Why, if she were a highblood with a mountainside mansion and a collection of fine art, she'd be....

  
Bored, honestly. Living a life of leisure sounds nice, but in her heart, Vriska has always known she's an explorer, a hunter. She's got a destiny, and spending her days in a musty old mansion, no matter how impressive and beautiful it may be, isn't really that appealing.

  
Coming back to a mansion after a week of adventuring, though, that sounds pretty good. She smirks to herself, thinking of how convenient it would be if this place were abandoned, ripe for the taking. She could always scare off the current resident, or take it over. If she had a proper crew it'd be easy, a whole army primed for revolution at her command, ready to take over this charming hive as their home base. If she could pull of a feat like her ancestor, worm her way into a life of grand possibilities on her charms alone, seize it all with an iron fist when the time is right, now that would be a good time.

  
Lost in thought, looking back over the swirling steps she's climbed, Vriska reaches the top of the stairs before she's even realized.

  
She also fails to realize that there is a troll at the top of those stairs, draped in chiffon and cloaked in darkness, with a snarling mouth and a fist aimed right at her face. A punch lands square on her cheek, sends her toppling back down the stairs, into unconsciousness before she can so much as blink.

  
.  
.

When Vriska wakes up it is to a sharp pain in her head, a duller, but still unpleasant pain in her jaw, and a duller still, but noticeable ache throughout her body. She feels just the way she expects she should after being punched down a flight of stairs.

  
When she opens her eyes she finds that she's in a respiteblock, one that is considerably less extravagant than the rest of the hive she was just touring. There is a troll about her age standing nearby, rearranging spools of thread and little vials of perfume across the top of a vanity table. Vriska catches the girl's reflection even before she turns around, the glint of bright eyes, blue-blushed cheeks, a set of lips painted the slick shine black of wet ink.

  
The girl is very pretty, but severe looking, seeming much older than she must actually be. She holds herself like a highblood noble ought to, head up, frowning as if nothing in all the world is quite good enough. She's dressed in a dark silk robe, little bits of filmy blue fabric sewn around the bell sleeves and trailing behind her, serving, Vriska can only assume, no purpose other than to look cool while she walks.

  
And they do look pretty cool, fluttering gently around her arms as she turns, gives Vriska a cold little look.

  
"You're awake," She says, and her voice is softer, higher than expected. She sounds young, like she should, but the little voice seems mismatched coming from her expertly painted lips.

  
"Yeah, unfortunately," Vriska croaks in response. She wonders if it's possible to literally have all the breath knocked out of you, because that's about how she's feeling now. Her head is throbbing, the pain centered in the back of her skull and ebbing forward, all the way around to tease at her eye sockets, making her wince. She should probably feel lucky that she didn't snap one of her horns clear off in that fall, but then, she's not entirely sure she hasn't. When she tries to reach up to check and see if anything is chipped, or bleeding, she finds that her hands don't cooperate. Her arms are tied up behind her back with a soft fabric. It's nothing that hurts, but nothing that is about to give either. Her ankles are bound in a similar fashion, with a bow, even.

  
Her assailant is treating her gently now, at least.

  
She tries to think of how her ancestor might handle this situation; trapped and held prisoner by a wealthy, beautiful, highblood girl. Why, for her it would probably be ideal. She'd weasel her way out of her bonds, woo the highblood, then make off with the very jewels she came to steal and sell them to fund the revolution.

  
She can totally do that too, right?

  
"It was unwise of you to break into my hive," The blueblood girl says, folding her arms across her chest, looking haughtier by the second, "You've basically sealed your fate."

  
Which sounds very ominous and makes Vriska a bit nervous, honestly, but she plays it cool, feigns disinterest as she takes in her surroundings, from the brightly colored curtains to the scattered candles to the over-packed book shelves. For being in the middle of a mansion, this girl's respiteblock doesn't read as especially rich. It's pretty simple, a little messy, even. She's got clothes slung over the backs of chairs, little bits of thread abandoned on the floor. There's a sewing machine in the corner, and Vriska has to wonder what it's doing there. She imagines that the girl can afford to pay someone else sew all her clothes, so why would she bother making anything herself?

  
"Am I being sent to the dungeon?" Vriska asks, mostly joking, and the blueblood girl rolls her eyes.

  
"Does this look like a castle to you?" Yes, a little, but Vriska's not about to say so, "You'll stay right here. Until such time as my lusus is ready for you."

  
That makes Vriska hesitate, "...ready for me to what?"

  
"To be eaten," The blueblood girl says flatly.

  
Vriska lets out a nervous laugh. Eaten? Her? No, not possible. She's not getting eaten by anything any time soon. She has things to do, people to steal from. She has a planet to repopulate, though she hates to think about it, "Whoa whoa whoa. Slow down there, fussyfangs-"

  
"Kanaya," The blueblood girl corrects, then flinches slightly, as though she's made a mistake. Which really, she has. Now that Vriska has a name to work with, she can turn on her charm full blast.

  
"Kanaya," Vriska parrots back at her, draws the vowels out a little to a near-purr. It's a pretty name to match a pretty face, "Let's be reasonable-"

  
"You broke into my hive. The time for reason has passed."

  
"Broke in? Me? Never! I was just...exploring, you know?"

  
She grins at Kanaya, and she can tell the other girl's gaze lingers on her mouth longer than it should. Though whether she's judging the sincerity of her smile or just wondering which brand of lipstick she wears, it's impossible to say.

  
"I explore all the time," Vriska continues, weaving a half-true story as she goes, "I like to know the lay of the land, have a plan ready in case of anything."

  
"Preparedness is key," Kanaya agrees, and meets Vriska's eyes. She doesn't look particularly trusting, but then, Vriska is just getting started. She's already convinced herself that she can talk her way out of this mess, which means she can't possibly fail.

  
"So I just sort of accidentally explored up your mountain here," Vriska says, "And right into your hive. You did leave the door unlocked, and well, here we are."

  
Kanaya raises her eyebrows, looks dubious, "Here we are indeed."

  
Vriska raises her eyebrows as well, not wanting to be outdone. She looks right into Kanaya's eyes, at the darker than average circles beneath them, not surprising if she's awake at this hour, then at the tiniest hints of blue that are starting to fill in around the iris, and thinks to compliment them. Instead she says, "That was a pretty impressive punch you threw back there."

  
Kanaya nods graciously, says, "Thank you," in a dismissive way, as though she already knows just how impressive her fighting skills are, "Though it's only fair to tell you that flattery will get you nowhere. I'm still holding you responsible for your crime."

  
Vriska tips her head back, breaking eye contact to groan in frustration, "I didn't mean to-"

  
"You most certainly did mean to," Kanaya counters, taking a step back, pulling her flowy sleeves back up to bundle them in her arms, as if to protect them, "I don't appreciate being lied to. I'm not a fool, and I know what you were up to. Don't think I'm not aware of the recent slew of burglaries in the area."

  
At that, Vriska looks back to her. She tries not to seem too interested, but it's hard to appear indifferent when someone is talking about your very impressive crime streak. She manages an even toned, "Oh?"

  
Kanaya does not look amused, "Yes. Daylight robbery, to be exact. It's a matter I've brought up at the local junior council meetings, but so far we haven't uncovered the culprit." She leans over a little, giving Vriska a scrutinizing sort of look.

  
She smells pretty, Vriska notices, something that lingers less on her skin and more in her clothing, a heavy floral scent. She stretches herself upright, trying to get closer to Kanaya, breathing her in and smiling as sweetly and innocently as she can, but the highblood girl is having none of it. She snaps back up and steps away, frowning.

  
"I don't know how this thief is managing it," She says, "But considering you strolled in here in the middle of the day, I suspect you might have a clue for me."

  
"I'm not much on detective stories," Vriska says with a shrug, tries not to look too impressed. Not only is Kanaya pretty and strong, she's clever. She can't help but wonder if she has any thieving skills, maybe some leadership qualities.

  
"A pity," Kanaya says, sharp, and Vriska could swear there's an extra tinge of color in her face, but she might just be projecting after feeling a touch of heat in her own. Moving just as quick as she did back on the stairs, Kanaya reaches out and grabs hold of the front of Vriska's shirt, hauling her up from the floor, pulling her forward. So much for gentle treatment, then.

  
Vriska squawks a complaint about unnecessary roughness, but Kanaya pays her no mind, dragging her along to the far side of the respiteblock, to a curtained window that, once pushed open, overlooks the side of the hive. There's a garden below, presumably the one Vriska ignored on the way in, full of lush greenery and huge, blooming flowers. There's a pattern of thin threads crisscrossing the plants, spiraling in places, layering and catching the light, leading the eye to the center, to a shaded corner of the garden where a monstrous lusus sleeps.

  
It has traces of yellow blood on its fangs, some spilled beneath two of its many legs, and Vriska can't quite suppress a shiver at the sight.

  
Kanaya gives her another push, and for a moment Vriska is afraid she'll be thrown right out of the window, dropped into the garden as a snack, but Kanaya never loses grip of her shirt. She turns her around, tipping her backward out of the window, into the light of day.

  
Vriska closes her eyes against the sun, doesn't catch Kanaya's surprised expression, but she hears the girl gasp at her lack of reaction. Vriska's skin doesn't burn, doesn't blister. She doesn't cry out in pain, won't even fake it, and in fact puts on a smile, basking in the warmth of the sunlight and in the other's revelation that she is something special. Kanaya holds her there for a full minute, waiting, probably sure that any she'll squirm in pain at any moment. But the moment never comes. Instead, Kanaya herself flinches, hissing quietly when the skin across the top of her hand becomes too hot, too close to hurting.

  
Vriska is still smiling as Kanaya pulls her back inside, drops her onto the floor beneath the window.

  
"How?" Kanaya demands, not quite panicked, but certainly pressed, "How are you not burning?" She brings her own hand close to her chest, gives the skin a glance to make sure she hasn't hurt herself. There's a trace of blue there, but none of the red signalling dead cells, no serious harm. She huffs in frustration, looks to Vriska for an answer.

  
Vriska beams at her, smug as ever, "Jadeblood skill, I guess."

  
She knows it's not nice to gloat, and probably not wise to give up her trade secret, but the look on Kanaya's face makes it worth it. She seems horrified, thrown off entirely. Her cold, snappy demeanor fades away, leaving her to fray, distressed.

  
"Jadeblood," She repeats, and leans in to look at Vriska's sun-darkened cheeks in disbelief, "I thought you were just sort of...olive."

  
Vriska scoffs. Olive? How mundane, "No, jadeblood. As in, super rare and important. Maybe you would have noticed if your hive was lit by anything but candles."

  
Kanaya steps away from her, then back, then away again. She's practically pacing, angry, but confused as well, unsure. Vriska thought she was beautiful in her regal introduction, in her cool, detached explanation, but now that she's fretting, she looks sort of cute. It's endearing, and Vriska takes a chance, turns on her charm again to say, "You look like you could use some help processing this. Untie me, maybe? We could hug it out."

  
Which is more of a joke than anything, since she isn't exactly a huggy person, but she wouldn't completely object to some form of close contact, maybe a reassuring pat on the arm, a friendly nuzzle, a very friendly nuzzle, you know, the kind with a bit of lip locking. No, none of that is objectionable.

  
Kanaya turns on her with a fierce look, fangs bared, like she might strike her again. She breathes in, out, slowly, and composes herself, somewhat. She lets her shoulders droop a little, tired, as she wonders aloud, "What am I supposed to do with a jadeblood?"

  
"Not feed her to your guardspider, obviously," Vriska volunteers, nearly laughing.

  
If the odds here weren't working out in her favor, she'd feel a little bad for Kanaya. To be honest, the girl is entirely in her right to execute her for trespassing. That's standard practice, really. But throwing what is commonly accepted as a very rare and important key to the propagation of their race into the mouth of a hungry lusus would be frowned upon. Letting Vriska go is ultimately the only option, but it's one that will make her look weak and foolish. She's stuck between a rock and a culling fork, for sure.

  
Kanaya is processing these options herself, if the worried expression on her face is anything to go by. Vriska watches her sit down, sink more like, skirt pooling on the floor just a foot or so away. Her hair is out of place and she looks like she might cry from frustration, and Vriska has the strangest, strongest pain right in her chest, one she knows can't be associated with her trip down the stairs from earlier. She's starting to feel awkward, being stuck in a room with a girl who is coming to terms with the fact that she can't kill her, a girl who happens to look especially pitiable when her plans are foiled, and she really wishes she could escape now. Escaping twenty minutes ago would have been ideal, with or without the friendly nuzzle plan being enacted.

  
"Look," Vriska begins to say, the humor leaving her, but then she has nowhere to take the sentence. Kanaya looks up at her, waiting, frowning, but she doesn't know what to say. After the silence stretches far too long, she finally says, "I'm sorry."

  
For breaking into her hive. And laughing at her. And being too important to kill. For all of that.

  
She leaves it at just two words though. She's not used to apologizing, definitely not sincerely, and this one is just a little bit sincere.

  
Kanaya sighs. She shrugs. She says, "Oh well."

  
A long silence stretches between them. The candles around Kanaya's respiteblock flicker, and for a few minutes sunlight filters through the open window, lighting the place up more brightly than before. Vriska takes another look around, taking in the immediate exits, the unfinished dresses, before Kanaya pulls the curtain and plunges them back into relative darkness.

  
"Do you feed all your guests to your lusus?" Vriska asks, curious. She thinks of the yellow blood out in the garden, wonders if there's an unoccupied hive somewhere ripe for looting.

  
Kanaya pulls a face like she's been sucking citrus fruits, "You're not a guest, you're an intruder. I never get intruders. So no, I do not feed them to my lusus."

  
"Well do you feed your welcome guests to your lusus then?"

  
Kanaya sighs, tired and drawn out, "I never get guests, either. No one comes here. If my lusus is hungry than I must hunt for her."

  
Vriska takes a moment to imagine Kanaya luring unsuspecting trolls back to her hive, wonders how she might go about it. She's pretty enough, smiles politely enough, to trick them, likely. Then again, she's high enough on the spectrum to simply order a few rustbloods around, if she wanted. Both ideas are sort of appealing, in a horrifying kind of way. Vriska can see either methods getting old quick though. Kanaya is likely sick to death of tricking other trolls into theirs. Vriska knows she'd be feeling awfully put upon in her position.

  
"Uuuugh, what a chore!" She groans, "No wonder I've never seen you around outside. You must be busy stuffing that glutton of a lusus with weaklings!"

  
Kanaya shrugs her shoulders, suddenly quite focused on the fraying fabric of her right sleeve, "Yes, well. It has to be done. Everyone has an important job to do. I'm sure you know that."

  
Vriska rolls her eyes, groans again, less words and more a drawn out gurgling sound this time. Yes, everyone has their own little job. Vriska's heard the sentiment more times than she can count. Her second wriggling day came with the standard extra ration of empire sanctioned snack foods and a thick manual labeled 'So You Have Become Solely Responsible For The Continuation Of Our Race: An Instructional Book For Young Jadebloods.' She could probably recite every motivational quote the empire has slipped in with her mail from memory by now.

  
"You have, probably, the most important job to do," Kanaya reminds her, finally looking up from the fabric she's been worrying between two fingers. She looks ever so slightly envious, and if Vriska didn't feel so sour on the whole thing, she'd grin in smug victory.

  
Instead she scoffs, pulls a face, "Yeah, yeah, I know. I've read the Tale of the Dolorosa cover to cover," And it was awesome, "I've got the whole Jadeblood preservation of the species thing down pat."   
Now if she could just find one gorgeous, elegant queen of the pirates to seduce and convince to take her traveling around Alternia, to gather riches and plant the seeds of revolution. Then she'd be living the dream.

  
Kanaya looks up in interest, abandoning her sleeve, "You've read the Tale of the Dolorosa?"

  
Vriska scoffs a laugh, "Of course I have. It's like, standard jadeblood reading."

  
It is also, she believes, the story of her ancestor. She doesn't say that though, because opinions on ancestors differ depending on who you talk to, and she's been laughed at or ignored in the past. Laughed at and ignored are definitely her two least favorite reactions.

  
"I'm surprised you've read it," She says, to sound superior, though judging from all the books on Kanaya's shelves, perhaps it's not that surprising.

  
Kanaya nods, looking less tired and more interested by the second, "It's one of my very favorite books," She says, enunciating her words even more clearly, as though they have the utmost importance, "It's a fantastic tale of cunning and adventure."

  
"And romance," Vriska reminds her. Sure, the abridged wrigglers versions tend to cut out the saucier bits, but you can still get an idea of the relationship the Dolorosa and her pirate matesprit shared. Wriggler books are always like that though. They even cut out the bloody bits of the revolution story, making the Signless sound like a total snore to discourage future uprisings. A miscarriage of history and literature, Vriska thinks.

  
"Naturally," Kanaya agrees, "Though I was always a little thrown by the way the kismesitudes were highlighted when there were such strong matespritships to explore among crew members, historically speaking. Don't even get me started on the moirallegience aspect being completely ignored."

  
Vriska nods along, though she's never been too interested in moirallegience in stories, choosing to throw her two cents in too, "So many editions get the kismesitude all messed up anyway! All that stuff about psychic battles and sea lusii? Bluh! It's supposed to have dragons and fire!"

  
"Especially fire," Kanaya says, "The burning of the imperial navy is so often overlooked in historical dramas, it makes me cringe. Even battle manuals skim right over it!"

  
Vriska grins with honest interest, "Battle manuals, you say?"

  
And there they fall into conversation.

  
While they start with Ancestor stories and general tales of adventure and scandal on the high seas, they soon transition to the history of special abilities that crop up among various bloodlines in their race. Vriska learns that Kanaya is psychic, a tool she uses to compel otherwise unwilling meals into the mouth of her lusus, and just listening to her talk about the intricacies of slipping inside another person's mind has Vriska starry eyed with admiration. Psychic abilities are incredible, she has always thought so, and she's more than a little jealous, more than a little attracted to that kind of power.

  
She tells Kanaya that she gets cooler and cooler by the minute, and the other girl looks honestly flustered, covers her face with one hand as she insists that it's nothing all that great, more of an annoyance than anything.

  
She unties Vriska's ankles then, because they've been sitting for a while and her legs are stiff, and, not too much later, her hands as well, because she is trying to show her a journal she's been keeping at her Inheritors of Alternia junior council meetings, and it's hard to handle a book between the two of them when one party is restrained.

  
They talk about Kanaya's struggle to unite her peers, a group of highbloods who are all more interested in playing games and digging up old junk than in planning for the future, and discuss the burden of expectation in propagating the entire race, before Vriska gets frustrated with it and hastily changes the subject.

  
They move closer together, talk about Kanaya's fashion endeavors. Vriska mentions, offhand, just in case she cared, that she could, you know, perhaps, bring over one of the antique dim season ceremonial celebration robes she's nicked, since she has a few lying around, if Kanaya maybe wanted to modify it for modern use.

  
Kanaya points out that she has just admitted to being a thief, but does not press the issue. She says a robe would be lovely, actually, and that she thinks she has a pattern somewhere that would work nicely.  
She fetches Vriska a pack of ice, helps her press it to her already swollen cheek, noting that it probably won't do a lot of good, but it might make her feel better. Vriska waits for her to return, and doesn't try to escape at all.

  
She insists that she feels fine, but lets Kanya hold the ice there till it's melting, dripping onto her shirt and down Kanaya's hand. It's cold enough to hurt, and does nothing to stop her headache. It definitely won't actually stop her from bruising at this point, but having Kanaya's hand against her face for a second time in one day makes her near-jittery.

  
Somewhere between the time they started talking and the time they're giddy with laughter at the realization that they share a few of the same friends online and never knew, the sun sunk down low in the sky. Kanaya is yawning, intermittently, and Vriska's stomach is growling since she hasn't eaten anything since she left her own hive. They're practically upon another night, and Vriska figures that's her cue to leave.

  
Kanaya walks her to the door, laughing lightly along the way as Vriska tells her how she needs her rest to become a force for change, that they should totally chat online, that she's sorry, again, for the whole attempted burglary thing, although she rolls her eyes as she says it, effectively negating the sincerity this time around.

  
"This was unexpectedly fun," Kanaya admits, standing in the doorway of her hive, all in shadow while Vriska shifts her weight from foot to foot in a wash of sunset orange, "We should get together again sometime."

  
"Abso _lute_ ly," Vriska agrees, enthusiastic, insistent, as though they idea were her own, which is practically is.

  
"Maybe when the swelling goes down. I never did get a good look at your face, before," Kanaya suggests, and she flutters her eyelashes just so, smiles so her fangs show, small and pointed and teasing over the fading shine of her lipstick.

  
Vriska stutters. She isn't sure what she had planned to say next, exactly, but it's gone now, lost to a sudden wave of nerves.

  
"I- uh- ah- totally!" She snaps out, feeling her face go hot. She turns, waving farewell, and steps out of the hive entrance, while Kanaya looks on, confused. Vriska doesn't look back as she walks down the mountain path, quick as she can, only calling, "Later!" and striding ahead.

  
She hears the door shut from far away, doesn't slow down till she's practically at the bottom of the mountain anyway.

  
On the walk back to her hive, across rocks and sand and fields, she thinks back on how exceptionally awkward that was, what Kanaya must be thinking now. She thinks about it too much, and wants to throw herself into the ocean, just a little.

  
Then she reworks it.

  
Awkward and snappy? No, she was cool and aloof. Surely she left Kanaya gazing after her, entranced by her mysterious nature, her carefree attitude. She probably walked back inide thinking that she was prime quadrant material. That confused look when she left must have been because she wanted her to stay, maybe forever, maybe even to run away together.

  
Just like pirates ought to, she thinks. She grins to herself, winces slightly because the her face hurts, possibly more than before, after being iced, and picks her away through the shriveling plants around her hive.

  
She's sighing as she passes under the arched entrance of her tower residence, plotting as she climbs the spiral staircase past tiny rooms crammed with clutter, cursing herself for the seven billionth time for blowing her whole building budget on such a ridiculous construction project. She figured a tower would be cool, since important people have towers, but over the sweeps she's come to realize that climbing up and down stairs all the time to search through her multiple sculleries and storage closets is a giant pain in the ass, and not really worth the prestige that comes with an obnoxiously tall hive.

  
It's not as impressive as Kanya's hive anyway, not as grand, and not as comfortable as her secret little less-than-fancy respiteblock.

  
She wonders if her own block would be more comfortable if she threw a bunch of fabric around, or maybe if she just had some company in it.

  
To be honest, she's not even sure if anyone actually thinks the tower in the middle of the desert is cool or not. Mysterious, maybe. She hopes. Someone is probably impressed. Someone not too far off, who might be thinking about her after today.

  
She's made sure to fly different flags from the tower's turret at random intervals in the past, so somebody must have noticed and started to wonder what the deal was by now. She never did tell Kanaya where she was from, exactly.

  
She thinks maybe tomorrow night she'll drag out a blue flag, wonders if a girl in a mansion on the mountainside will be able to see it from her respiteblock window.

  
When the spiral staircase finally lets out, Vriska heads straight for her recuperacoon. Her stomach is still growling, but she's half-sure she left a pack of crackers open on her side table, and sure enough, there are a few left. She scarfs them down, chewing carefully on the side of her face that isn't in pain, and takes a quick glance in the nearest mirror.

  
Ah yes, definitely a trainwreck. Her swollen face is startling, a little scary, but her hair isn't too wild today and neither of her horns are chipped after all, so maybe, just maybe, she looks charming and roguish and not just like she got her ass handed to her.

  
She remembers what Kanaya said about seeing her when she's not swollen, frowns a little. Even if she's not swollen tomorrow, her face is going to stay multicolored for weeks.

  
She considers the makeup she has stashed away in one closet or another, mostly unused, and thinks it'd be easy enough to cover up the bruise tomorrow morning. But then, she's sort of proud of it, in a way. Today is the first time she's ever been caught, really caught, more than just some idiot waking up and saying 'hey, wait,' while she took off into the daylight with half their valuables.

  
Kanaya Maryam stopped her right in her tracks, and she's impressed.

  
As she slips out of her clothes and into her recuperacoon, ready to sleep off the rest of her aches, she's already planning all the grand gestures she can enact when she returns to that mansion, thinking about what she can say to her new highblood friendenemy. 

Surely Kanaya has a few quadrants she'll want to fill in the future.

  
Or, if nothing else, a few jewels to pocket when she's not looking.  
.  
.


End file.
